


Hooked

by In_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fairytale with HEA, Favours, Fluff and Humor, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-04 04:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20465303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/pseuds/In_Dreams
Summary: After Draco Malfoy helps her out of a bind, Hermione decides to repay the favour when he is in need. Written for the Dramione Fairytale Fest, and loosely based on the Brothers Grimm fairytale, The Fisherman and his Wife.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Hello! This is my submission for TheMourningMadam's Dramione Fairytale Fest. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This is (very loosely) based on the Brothers Grimm fairytale The Fisherman and his Wife, wherein a fisherman catches a flounder that turns out to be an enchanted prince, and he asks to be released. The wife demands her husband make a series of increasingly outlandish requests in exchange: a bigger and better house, then she demands a palace, a kingdom, an empire, and on until the balance of everything is thrown off and the man and his wife end up with nothing.
> 
> Alpha love to Kyonomiko, and beta hugs to amjohnson0518.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

It was nearing the end of the night, and Hermione was more than a few Firewhiskys in. Despite the fact that she had to work in the morning, she'd been camped on a wooden stool at the bar in the Leaky Cauldron since she'd left the Ministry after a grueling twelve-hour day. And aside from a subpar dinner, the only thing she'd consumed since arriving was alcohol.

Ignoring the sympathetic looks she was receiving from Hannah Abbott, Hermione slammed the last of her glass.

It had just been one of those days.

Although the war had ended a few years ago, where most everyone else was concerned, many of her ghosts still lingered.

The loss of her parents, for one. It was the anniversary of the day she'd removed herself from their memories, not knowing at the time it wouldn't be reversible after the fact.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow, and Hermione didn't care for the painful reminder of the day. And while she was still working on her coping mechanisms, there was something about drowning her miseries all the same.

The last patrons of the Leaky were starting to trickle through the door, the Floo, or up the staircase into the inn, and Hermione blinked heavy eyes around the pub.

Malfoy was several tables away, sharing pints with his old Slytherin mates, Nott and Zabini. Twice, she'd caught him looking at her, and instead of averting his gaze, Malfoy had merely offered a slow smirk that was more teasing than it was malicious.

She'd scowled at him and returned to her drink.

Nearing the end of the night, Hermione rose from her seat with a steadying hand on the surface of the bartop. She spilled a pocketful of coins on the bar, and Hannah counted out a handful of sickles with an apologetic smile, which Hermione forced herself to return.

Then she ventured on a slow, tedious journey to the door, grateful only a handful of patrons remained.

Once outside, the cool night air was sufficient to clear her head enough that she began the short walk to the nearest Apparition point, and Hermione found herself dawdling as she peered up at the few visible stars in the pitch blanket above.

She tugged at a loose curl, her eyes fluttering as sleep teased at her lids.

An arm snaked across her back as a voice huffed into her ear, "Don't react. _Don't_ scream."

It was only her muted and cumbersome response due to the alcohol that prevented Hermione from leaping away when a flash of platinum blond caught in her periphery.

Fingers coiled, possessive and assertive, against the curve of her hip. Her wide eyes slid to the side to meet the intent, grey ones of Malfoy, even as her feet kept shuffling along the cobbles.

"You're being followed." His grip adjusted on her side. Shoulders tensed, her entire body was seized with nerves. "Three blokes. Big. Thuggish."

Hermione could feel a hot flush creep up her neck and into her cheeks despite the chill of the air. Finding her tongue and senses, she hissed, "_What_ are you doing?"

Malfoy's wand hand was in his pocket as he leaned in, and his warm breath danced across the skin of her cheek. "I am making sure you get to the Apparition point safely."

"You'll do no such thing."

The pair of them had had almost nothing to do with one another since the war, and indeed, every so often Malfoy's post-war efforts had popped up in the _Prophet_ – a fundraiser gala here, a significant contribution there.

But old habits die hard, and they weren't friends.

Malfoy snickered into her neck, and she squirmed at the feel of his closeness. He certainly wasn't _unattractive_, and in her inebriated state, her body wasn't particularly discerning.

"They look annoyed, Granger. Let me make sure you get home in one piece."

Despite her best judgement, Hermione felt her head turning to peer behind her. Malfoy wasn't lying – there were three large men stalking some distance behind them, ugly sneers on their faces, dark eyes fixed on the pair of them.

"I can defend myself," she slurred, the defiance sounding weak even to her own ears. She fumbled for her wand and huffed a breath through her nose as she nearly dropped it to the road ahead of her. "Fine. But kindly take a step away."

With a slow smirk, Malfoy extracted himself from her personal space, but his hand still lingered near the small of her back. His gaze fixed ahead as they walked, and Hermione found herself observing him.

While Malfoy had been all points and sharp edges as a youth, he'd matured into his bone structure, and Merlin – you could cut glass with that jawline. His cheekbones were high but masculine, and his white-blond hair fell nicely across his eyes.

His stare flickered to meet hers, and his lips twitched. "That Ministry of yours treating you well, Granger?"

Averting her gaze, she muttered, "What do you mean?"

Malfoy waved a dismissive hand, sliding it back into his pocket. Hermione could only assume he was keeping his wand handy. "War hero and all. I only hope they've been good to you. Auror, isn't it?"

"Not an Auror," she ground through her teeth. "That was never what I wanted."

Malfoy's brows flickered. "My mistake."

They were still a couple minutes' walk from the Apparition point, and Hermione wasn't certain whether the men were still following them or if Malfoy was keen on irritating her with his presence, but she sighed.

"I'm in the DMLE. I'm the assistant to the Liaison with the Wizengamot."

Snapping his fingers, Malfoy shifted a step closer again with a glance behind him. "That's what it was. I knew it was something like that."

Pressing her lips together, she gave a short nod. Her mind still felt foggy but the situation had allowed some of the intoxication to clear. "Right. So that's what I do."

"For now." With another look back, he withdrew his hand from his pocket. "They've given up, apparently."

"What do you mean, _for now_?" Hermione felt her eyes narrow on instinct and she took a step away from his distracting proximity.

With an unapologetic shrug, he carried on beside her. "I only mean, surely you won't be an assistant for long. A high achiever like you."

Unsure what to say in response, Hermione looked up to realize they'd arrived at the Apparition point. Chancing a look back, she could see the three men in a hunched retreat, and swallowed a thick lump in her throat.

"Thanks, Malfoy. I'm not sure why you cared to look out for me, but I appreciate it." The thought of those men approaching her, off her guard as she was, was an unpleasant one. "I'll owe you one."

"Nonsense." He waved a dismissive hand, and turned to face her, his grey eyes focused. "Are you fine to Apparate? Or shall I take you side-along?"

In truth, she probably wasn't in the best shape to Apparate, but the thought of intentionally touching Malfoy left her stomach in a twist. Especially with the way he was staring at her, and the way her body was all too eager to give him permission to enter her flat, judging by the twinge low in her belly.

"I'm fine," she muttered, stepping through the barrier. As she stumbled a little, Malfoy followed her through, a smirk playing at his lips. Lifting her chin, Hermione cocked a brow. "Really. I can Apparate myself."

"I can't be held responsible for your drunk arse splinching yourself." Chuckling, Malfoy shook his head and held out his hand. "Be sensible, Granger. I'm not going to make fun of your undoubtedly hefty book collection."

With a half-hearted eyeroll, she caved, slipping her hand into his. Malfoy's fingers were long and warm, gripping hers with assertiveness. A breath hitched in her throat as she informed him of her address, and with a tilt of his head, Hermione found herself pulled into the sensations of Apparition.

And when her feet hit the carpet in her sitting room, she was struck with the realization that Malfoy was in her flat.

Of all the reasons _never_ to drink to excess again, this felt like the top of the list.

His eyes made a quick sweep of the room, his expression stoic and somber, and he gave a short nod. "I like your hefty book collection."

A quick laugh escaped before she could stop it, even as she forced her eyes to narrow. "You said you wouldn't make fun of it." She shifted, defensive on behalf of the floor to ceiling bookshelves that covered one full wall of the room.

"I didn't make fun," Malfoy countered, smirking, "I said I liked it. You ought to see mine sometime."

Her cheeks flushed at the way the comment came out as an offhand proposition, and Hermione folded her arms across herself, her shoulders slumping.

"Thanks for bringing me home. All safe and sound."

The look on his face softened into something else she didn't even recognize from him. "What a relief. It was touch and go there for a minute." He released an inelegant snort.

She found herself snickering at his wit and wondered at the easy camaraderie between them, despite that they'd never shared anything more than an absent nod of acknowledgement in the years since the war had ended.

Perhaps the liquor had simply loosened both of their tongues.

But before she could think on it too long, his head fell into a tilt. "Goodnight, Granger. I hope your circumstances don't drive you to intoxication again tomorrow."

Hermione wasn't entirely certain whether he was being mocking, facetious, or honest, but something transparent in his stare had her pressing her lips into a thin line with a nod. "Thanks again, Malfoy. It was… nice. Chatting with you."

His lips quirked into a hint of a smile. "And you."

And before she could think any more on it, with a soft _pop_, he was gone.

* * *

Glancing up at a soft knock on her open door frame, Hermione smiled. The department's administrative assistant was hovering in the doorway, looking uncertain.

"Miss Granger, you have a visitor." The woman's eyes flitted in the direction of the lifts.

Hermione blinked in surprise, setting her quill aside. "Who is it?"

Patrice gave a wide-eyed shrug. "I don't know him. He's merely asked for five minutes of your time." She hesitated, glancing back down the corridor again. "He's quite… _fit_."

Brow furrowed, Hermione pulled her lower lip between her teeth. "Fine. Send him in, I suppose."

Most of Hermione's friends worked in the DMLE, including Ron and Harry, who both served as Aurors. She couldn't imagine who else would be visiting her that Patrice both didn't know, and considered fit.

But her musings came to a resolute halt – as her eyelids slammed open – when Draco Malfoy edged through the doorway, propping one shoulder on the frame. He stared at her for a long moment, calculating, before he drawled, "Greetings, Granger."

"Malfoy." Hermione leapt from her seat in surprise, stumbling on the corner of her desk as she circled around to face him. "What are you doing here?"

She hadn't seen the man since the odd encounter they'd had when he'd looked out for her in ensuring she made it home from the Leaky one night, but that had been six months ago, and she hadn't seen nor heard from him since.

He wore a crisp, navy blue button-down, the top two buttons loose and sleeves rolled to partway up his forearms, and a pair of black slacks that clung to his hips in a way that caused her to avert her stare. His pale hair hung, loose and effortless, in his eyes. There was a sort of cool, casual ease about him that she remembered from the last time, and she felt a dull flush creep into her cheeks.

She could admit one thing – he _was_ fit. She wasn't sure if the thought was reassuring or nerve-wracking, that her sober self agreed with her drunken self of six months prior.

His head cocked to the side as he gave her that appraising stare again. There was something behind the stoicism in his grey eyes. "I need your help."

"My help," she murmured, lifting a brow. "With what?"

Something twisted in her stomach at the thought that Malfoy was there to call upon the favour she owed him – while she could easily have defended herself against those three men sober, they'd found her unaware and Malfoy's presence _had_ been of some help. Her mouth twisted at the thought that she should have expected him to come calling sooner or later.

Lips pressed into a thin line, Malfoy eased into the office, and Hermione swallowed at his close proximity. He raised a hand, eyes drifting to the side in consideration.

"I need you to know, before I even ask, Granger, this has nothing to do with the last time we saw one another." His eyes met hers again. "In fact, I intended to never bring it up again, because I didn't think I'd need to approach you for a favour."

A breath escaped her lips with a soft puff. "Why don't you take a seat?"

Hermione pressed the door closed while Malfoy slipped into the chair facing her desk, and she pulled up a seat beside him, rather than her own across the desk. She faced him, expectant.

Malfoy scratched at the back of his neck, his face twisting into a grimace. "I'm sure you know my father is in Azkaban."

Realizing she was holding a breath, Hermione offered a quick nod. "I'm aware."

As he swept his fringe from his temples, she realized he was prone to nervous fidgeting, and wondered what his request would entail.

"He's in a bad way, Granger." His throat bobbed, a heavy knit to his brow. "He isn't doing well in the high security ward, and he needs to see a Healer – but the guards won't permit him one. I need… I don't know what sort of influence you have with the Wizengamot, but… he may be a lousy human but he's my father." He swallowed, glancing away. "Even if you can't do anything to help, I had to ask."

Hermione blinked at him, surprised. "What do you mean, they won't provide him with a Healer? It's basic prisoner care."

"A lot of _basics_, it seems, have been slipping through the cracks." His tongue swept his front teeth as he eyed the contents of her desk. Hermione felt suddenly self-conscious of the mess, even as she frowned at his words.

Reaching for a blank sheet of parchment and a quill, Hermione jotted a few quick notes before turning back to face him.

"I don't know what I can do, Malfoy – but I'll speak with the Liaison. I don't think he'll be pleased to hear the prisoners aren't receiving proper care. Inhumane conditions are one of the things we've been working to prevent since the Dementors vacated Azkaban." There was a flicker of hope in his grey eyes as they met hers, and his lips pressed into a thin approximation of a smile. "At the very least, I'll do my best to ensure your father sees a Healer."

"Thank you, Granger." The sincerity in his tone was startling, even after the brief yet intriguing conversation they'd shared between the Leaky and the Apparition point, as well as in her flat. "I really appreciate anything you can do."

Her voice softened. "Of course, Malfoy." She stared at him for a moment, and upon closer inspection, she could see the faint circles beneath his eyes. "I hope you've been keeping well."

His cheeks pulled up. "Well enough. And you? Getting on well with this –" he waved a hand at the fishbowl on her desk, nodding at its occupant "– critter here?" For a moment his lips twitched.

Following his stare, Hermione felt heat creep up her neck once more as she eyed the single blue and yellow fish that swam amongst small, colourful rocks, and brightly coloured fake plants.

She flashed him a tight smile. "That's my gourami. His name is Flounder."

"Of course it is." Malfoy's eyes danced with amusement. "I can't say I ever understood the Muggle fascination with keeping fish as pets."

There was nothing malicious in his tone and Hermione found herself laughing. "Because keeping white peacocks is so much better?"

With a single bark of laughter, he grinned at her. "Touche, Granger." Then he sobered. "Truly – you're well?"

Oddly touched by his interest in her well being, Hermione found herself nodding. "I've been okay, yes."

"Good." His voice was clipped as he stared around her office again. "You like it here? In this small box?"

With a hesitant sigh, she caught his eye again. "It's fine, I suppose. I won't want to be an assistant forever – which I believe _you_ predicted." His lips pulled into a smirk. "Some days I feel like just another cog – but it has its moments."

"Good," he repeated, his voice softer. "Sometimes I wonder about working here. But then I remember there's no way in Hell anyone in their right mind would offer me a job after the whole _Death Eater_ thing, and I go on my merry way."

Despite the frank sentiment, Hermione found herself snickering. "And do you work now?"

"I'm… between positions." His tongue danced out between his lips, his expression secretive as if what he'd said was entertaining. But then he shrugged. "The short answer is no. I don't."

Looking away, Hermione found herself watching the way Flounder flittered about in his bowl. "For what it's worth, I think you could work here in the Ministry if you really wanted to. There are usually a few openings at any given time. And you did well in school."

Malfoy clicked his tongue, bracing his hands on the arms of his chair, as if to stand. "Unfortunately, I don't think they'll care much about my grades."

He twisted one arm up, brandishing his partially exposed forearm, and Hermione found herself swallowing at the mess of scar tissue that was the lingering and tattered remains of his Dark Mark.

She wondered again, as she had the night six months previous, how the atmosphere between them felt so casual and easy, especially with such heavy subject matter. But he rose from his seat, and Hermione jumped to her feet, following him to the door.

"I won't keep you from all this important work," he murmured, lips twitching with a hint of a smirk again as he waved a hand at her fishbowl. Then his stare met hers, and Hermione's mouth felt dry. "But I do appreciate your consideration of my father's situation. Really."

She found herself breathing, "I'll do what I can. You have my word."

"Thanks, Granger." His voice was low and the rumble of it flew straight to her core. "Take care of yourself, yes?"

Swallowing, she offered a jittery nod. "And you."

And once again, he swept away before she could say any more.

* * *

There was a soft tap on her door, and Hermione rose to answer. A messenger brandished a long, narrow box, and with a sharp nod, returned back down the hall without a word. Hermione stared after him in confusion, before turning to the package in her hands.

After a quick series of spells to ensure the box wasn't cursed, Hermione slipped the ribbon tie and opened the box, blinking at its contents.

A posh bottle of wine stared up at her from within a red satin lining, and she couldn't quite wrap her head around the offering until she noticed a small paper note.

_Granger_

_Please accept my gratitude. And this vintage bottle of Prieur Montrachet from the Malfoy cellars._

_DM_

She could only imagine what a bottle like this might cost, and she set it carefully on the desk beside Flounder's bowl, lest her clumsy fingers fumble it.

Retaking her seat, Hermione stared at the bottle for a considerable length of time as she warred within herself.

True to her word, she had spoken to her superior, the Liaison to the Wizengamot, and he had been just as irritated to learn that the patients in Azkaban weren't being adequately looked after. They had arranged for Healers to visit the high security ward and ensure all of the patients were in good health.

The feedback had been shocking – not only was the healthcare lacking, but the rations were poor, the hygiene afforded was almost nonexistent, and many of the prisoners were sick as a result.

Hermione had pushed for an official report and conditions were improving. The guards were being more closely monitored by Aurors, and the shifts changed more frequently.

Lucius Malfoy had received the health care he greatly needed, and was on the mend.

Something flickered within her as she stared at the note, and nerves pulled at the pit of her stomach. At last Hermione drew a sheet of parchment towards her.

_Malfoy_

_Your gratitude is appreciated, and the wine is unnecessary. But if you insist, perhaps you'd join me for a glass. My day ends at six._

_HG_

Before she could think twice and rip the note to shreds, Hermione coiled it into a roll and dispatched it into the chute that led to the Ministry owlery, where it would be sent to its recipient via owl.

Then she did the best to put the blond from her mind.

* * *

At a quarter to six, Malfoy edged into her doorway, his pale fringe swept to one side. He wore a black oxford and dark jeans, and Hermione nearly had to snap her jaw shut when he offered her a slow smirk.

He folded his arms as he leaned against the frame. "You got my delivery."

Giving him a look, Hermione shook her head. "You didn't owe me anything. I told you I'd look into your father's situation because improving conditions in the prison is something we've been working on."

"But you'll accept it anyways." His grey eyes twinkled.

Her eyes swept to the bottle of wine. "Is it grossly expensive?"

"Depends on your definition of _grossly_. It certainly wasn't the _most_ expensive in the cellar." He slipped into the chair facing her, pressing his hands onto the desk. "But it's yours – if my father didn't want me giving away his prized collection he shouldn't have landed himself in prison."

Despite herself, Hermione released a huff of laughter, and whispered, "I'll toast to that."

Malfoy grinned, and produced a corkscrew from somewhere within his pocket. At the cock of his brow, Hermione nodded, and he released the cork on the bottle, allowing her to fragrance the bouquet before he conjured two glasses and poured.

With the first sip, her eyelids fluttered. "It's wonderful."

"It is." He took a sip, eyeing the label. "Eighty-six was a good year." Then he tossed back the remains of his glass in one gulp and Hermione nearly choked on her own wine at his careless regard for such an expensive vintage.

He interlocked his fingers across his chest, propping one ankle on the opposite knee. "How's your fish?"

"Flounder is good," she mused, eyeing him. "He does all the fish activities – swimming, eating – you know how it goes."

"Fascinating," he drawled, drawing the word out beyond its syllables.

"And you? The non-job treating you well?" She felt a smile tug at her lips when he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Never. Never well." 

Drawing idly on a sheet of parchment with her quill, Hermione murmured, "So why don't you… quit?"

Malfoy barked a laugh and grinned; for a brief moment Hermione forgot to breathe at the way it lit his face. "Oh, Granger. One can't just _quit_ a non-job, you know."

She shrugged, wondering if he would ever elaborate. "Then I suppose you're stuck."

He frowned, with an absent flicker of his brows. "Suppose I am."

A silence fell over them as Hermione sipped her wine, attempting to pace herself, while Malfoy poured himself a small measure more. Finally she asked, "Your father's doing well then?"

"Yes." Malfoy nodded. "It's my _mother_, unfortunately. She's now wanting father to be moved to a lower security ward so she can visit him. I told her it won't happen because he's a Death Eater, but…" He shrugged with a grimace. "She's difficult to dissuade."

Hermione found herself shrugging, with a mused, "Prisoners move around quite frequently, from my understanding. It isn't unheard of – but like you said, your father is in the high security ward for a reason."

Shaking his head, he tapped a quick rhythm on the surface of her desk, his grey eyes boring a hole through the wood before he looked back up with a tight grimace. "I shouldn't be unloading any of this on you as it is. I certainly don't need you to think I'm asking _another_ favour."

A horrifying snort sounded in the back of her throat and she took a quick swig of her wine. "I can look into it if it'll help any. But I certainly can't make any promises, of course."

His cautious stare landed on hers. "Really, Granger, don't go to any trouble."

"I won't," she assured him. "But unless you think your father's at risk of plotting an escape and taking up the mantle of his former master –"

With a sigh, Malfoy shook his head. "Unlikely."

"Well then." She folded her hands in her lap. "It can't hurt to look into it."

His head fell to the side and the sparkle in his eyes made her stomach twist. "Granger, you're the best."

As a warm flush crept into her cheeks, Hermione didn't think she was quite ready to unpack _that_ sentiment.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco paced the study of Malfoy Manor, carding a hand through his pale locks as he ignored his mother's expectant stare.

"Really, Draco, can it hurt to ask?"

"It can, actually," he admonished, shooting Narcissa Malfoy a scowl. "I can't keep asking for favours, Mother."

"And why not?" Narcissa folded her feet at the ankles, her posture prim as if she weren't asking for something so monumental. "Lucius' sentence is already up for reevaluation in the next few months."

Coming to an abrupt halt on the Persian rug beneath his feet, Draco shook his head as he stared at his mother, incredulous. "Have you completely forgotten what he did to this family? That we were all nearly killed? Has it slipped your mind that he was willing to put a psychotic murderer ahead of his own wife and son?"

His mother waved a hand, looking put out. "It was years ago."

"Not _that_ many."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments. "Draco, you have a duty to this family. Whoever this contact of yours is apparently had enough influence to get your father into a different ward. They must also have influence enough with the Wizengamot."

His voice was deadpan. "I'm not asking her for anything else, Mother."

With a tight huff of a breath, he tried to ignore the way his mother's blue eyes lit up with a sparkle. "It's a woman? Well now, Draco, surely you can approach her for this one additional thing."

Jaw clenched, Draco shook his head and swept from the room.

* * *

Hands in his pockets, Draco's gaze swept across the figure of Granger as she paced beside him, a pair of dark glasses perched on the bridge of her nose in the brightness of the sun. He'd visited on her lunch break and they'd decided to take a walk through the streets of Muggle London near the Ministry.

He was starting to think he would take any excuse to see her. He'd even brought her fish a miniature painted castle, for Merlin's sake. But the way her face lit up as she'd fixed it into the brightly coloured rocks at the bottom had made it worthwhile.

It seemed his semi-drunken stumbling after her that night almost a year ago had been one of the best things he'd ever done. Of course, he wasn't certain whether she would _ever_ consider him.

He wouldn't, if he were her. Not after the way he'd treated her in school.

But every so often there was a flicker in her gaze that set his insides alight.

"How's your father?" she asked, glancing sidelong at him as they walked. "Have you been to visit him?"

"No." Draco sucked his teeth for a moment, pondering. "I'm not sure that I care to, if I'm honest."

Voice dropping, she breathed, "I can understand."

"Mother has, of course. Weekly," he muttered, shaking his head. Staring ahead, Draco sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if she's simply repressed all the terrible things he did during the war. Everything he put our family through."

It was all too easy to share with Granger, despite that they didn't even know one another that well. He just felt, inherently, that she always heard him. And Draco had never really had anyone who was willing to listen, without ulterior motives behind it.

"I think that's perfectly reasonable to feel that way," she said with an absent wave. "Your father's decisions forced you down a path you didn't care for, and it's rational that you aren't past all of that – and it isn't your fault if you never see him the same way as you did as a child. Maybe your mother's just had an easier time accepting it because he's her husband, and despite the last handful of years, they were together for a long time before."

She gave an absent shrug, her lips twitching as she glanced at him. "I'm only guessing, of course."

"No," he murmured, "it makes sense." He shifted a step closer as they walked, squinting into the brightness of the sun. "I just can't see the situation the same way, no matter how I try."

There was something soft in Granger's expression as she stared at him. "I understand. I suppose your mother's pleased she can see him now that he's been moved."

Rolling his eyes, Draco scoffed. "Hardly. His sentence is up for reevaluation in a few months and she had the audacity to suggest I ask you put in a good word." He glanced at her sharply. "Which, for the record, I am _not_ asking."

Granger was silent for a long moment, and he wondered if he'd offended her. But then she asked, "What are his options?"

Draco pulled his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. "They're evaluating the length of his sentence. Leniency could mean early parole, or house arrest without magic."

"I see." Her arms folded across her chest, her shoulders slumping. "And would _you_ like me to put in a recommendation?"

Jarred, he stared at her. "If I said yes –"

"I would." She winced, her expression that of indecision. "If you genuinely think he deserves it. But you would have to swear to me that you think he wouldn't cause trouble – and you'd have to be responsible for his actions." Her voice dropped. "To me, if no one else."

Wide-eyed, he shook his head. His voice was scarcely above a whisper. "I don't know."

"I know you don't," she mused, her face faltering with something akin to sympathy. "That's why I need you to really think about it." She shifted a step closer, so that her arm bumped against his occasionally. "Here's what I think – and correct me if I'm wrong. I think you're torn between your own feelings on the matter and your sense of duty to your family – to your mother. She keeps asking these things of you, and you don't know how to respond. I don't want you to advocate this if it isn't what you feel is best."

His mouth felt dry. The back of her hand nudged against his as her arm swung and it took a shocking amount of effort to refrain from taking her smaller hand into his.

Then she paused on the sidewalk, turning to face him. Her expression was guarded as she worried her lower lip. "What do _you_ want?"

Clenching his jaw to keep from blurting the truth that what he wanted was in fact _her_, Draco merely blinked at her for several long seconds. Forcing some of the tension from his shoulders, he said, "I want a chance at my own life."

Granger nodded, her brows high on her forehead. "One where you aren't living in the shadow of your past, and your father's mistakes."

"Yes." The word was a relieved sigh.

"And if he's released early…" The words trailed off, but they both understood her intentions.

He repeated, "Yes."

Her lips twitched with a hint of a smile. "And he'll _never_ let you out of Malfoy Enterprises, isn't that right?" Her expression faltered as she hesitated. "That's the non-job, isn't it?"

With an exhalation of a laugh, he followed as she fell into step again. "It's the non-job. I'd sell off the whole bloody corrupted mess if it was up to me; with Father in prison the majority shares fell on me."

"I figured." Her eyes flickered to his, apologetic. "It took some thought, but when I saw an article on the topic in the _Prophet_ last week, it clicked."

"Well, you aren't brilliant for nothing," Draco quipped.

"I'm not going to make the recommendation," she informed him, her face wary. "But if it helps, you can tell your mother I simply didn't have enough influence over the Wizengamot."

His mouth pulled into a smirk. "Very well."

"I _am_ going to do something else." Her eyes met his and his heart leapt in his chest. "But I won't tell you what it is yet – I'd hate to get your hopes up."

He'd had his hopes up when it came to her since he'd seen her stumbling down the cobbled street in Diagon almost a year ago and they'd had a somewhat friendly conversation for the first time ever.

What was a little more time?

"Fine, Granger," he huffed, teasing. "Whatever you like."

Watching the slow smile she offered him was an exercise in self-control.

* * *

His hand clenched the coiled scroll he'd read a dozen times as Draco strode into a lift in the Atrium of the Ministry, and he adjusted the knot of his tie at his throat.

All Granger's letter said was that she needed to speak with him at his convenience. So Draco had paced the sitting room of his quarters for the better part of half an hour before dressing and making his way to the Ministry.

His palms were damp by the time he reached her office in the DMLE, and the thing that struck him was that her door was closed, when it wasn't ordinarily.

Tapping on the solid oak, he peered around the rest of the department while he waited for her to answer. If his father wasn't so insistent he take over the family enterprises, Draco _would_ have liked to work at the Ministry.

Even though it didn't strike him as the most exciting, it was the hub of wizarding society in Great Britain, and he'd always wanted to feel like he was doing something of importance.

Dealing in dark artefacts trading wasn't exactly _important_.

And if he had any other options, he would sell off Malfoy Enterprises to the people who were _actually_ running the company.

Granger swung the door open, a glow to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes. "Malfoy! You made it."

Cocking a brow, Draco stared at her, his eyes tightening. She seemed oddly out of breath and he couldn't understand her enthusiasm. They saw one another quite regularly.

It wasn't until she stepped back into her own office that he realized she had another visitor, and something twisted in his gut at the situation. A man was seated at her desk, and something like jealousy reared up in his chest until the man turned around and Draco realized he was older than even his own parents.

The man rose from his seat, dusting some lint from his robes before he approached.

"Draco Malfoy," Granger said, "meet Bartholomew Tucker. He's the head of the Department of Transportation."

"Mr Tucker," Draco murmured, profferring his hand, "it's nice to meet you."

"And you," the man said with a boisterous chuckle. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't already heard all about you."

Draco felt his jaw clenching as his gaze skipped to Granger – but her hands were wrapped together at her front and she looked anticipatory. He heard himself saying, "Not all bad, I hope."

"All good, in fact," Tucker said with a wry grin. "And Miss Granger doesn't speak highly of just anyone."

His brow pulled into a confused knit as he attempted to wrap his head around the situation. But then realization dawned when he realized Granger was practically bouncing on her tiptoes and he turned back to Tucker with a thin smile. "That's wonderful to hear."

"She's suggested you might be interested in the position that's just come open?" Tucker gave him an expectant stare.

"Yes sir," Draco found himself muttering with a sharp nod. "I believe I am."

"Why don't you walk with me to my department? We'll talk." Tucker clapped him on the shoulder and left the office.

Draco shook his head as he met Granger's stare, feeling his lips pull into a smile. She flashed him her teeth in response, waving an anxious hand towards the door. He pointed a finger at her as he backed from the room.

"I'm coming back after, and we're talking about this."

"Yes, of course," she hissed, "now go!"

* * *

Leaning on the inside of the doorframe, Draco found himself eyeing Granger while she worked. Flounder was darting around his bowl, and swam into the blasted castle Draco had given the creature. Noticing his presence, Granger looked up and her lips twitched as she circled the desk, perching on the edge of it.

Draco pulled his lower lip between his teeth as he pressed the door closed behind him, before turning back to face her.

"So."

"And?"

His mouth curved into a smirk. "Tucker offered me the position."

"Yes!" Granger's wide smile shot straight through his chest. "I knew he would."

Crossing the small office in a few steps, Draco peered down at her. She rose to stand, folding her arms across her chest. "Why'd you do it? You owe me _less_ than nothing at this point."

Her voice was quiet. "I just thought you kept asking for favours for your family…" With an absent shrug, she smiled, tugging at a loose curl. "And if there was any Malfoy I truly wanted to help out, it was you."

"I appreciate it," he breathed, "but _why_?"

Chocolate eyes searching his, she murmured, "Isn't that obvious by now?"

His heart leapt into his throat and he forced a swallow, wondering if she could hear the sheer voracity of it. "Clearly, you just can't stand to be apart from me. You require my attractive presence near you more often, and you –"

"Shut up," Granger interrupted with a bright laugh. Her hand wrapped in the length of his tie and she tugged him closer, so he was nearly pressed against her. "Ever since that night, I've been wondering what it is about you, and how everything changed."

Her gaze found his again and Draco wanted to be lost in it forever.

"You." He swallowed again, his mouth dry. "Everything changed because of you."

Lips pulling into a secretive smile, she whispered, "I was hoping that was it."

Then he was kissing her, and her lips were soft as they pillowed his own; her tongue grazed his and her hands wound their way into his hair as his found her back, hitching her tight against himself.

Granger released a soft sort of whimper that shot straight to his groin, and Draco pulled her closer still, delving into her mouth and basking in the feel of her in his hands as they skimmed her sides.

With a harsh, shuddering breath, Draco drew away to meet her stare. Her lips were parted and her cheeks flushed.

He pressed his lips together with a huff of breath through his nose. "I want to take you out. Properly." His eyes flickered to the clock hanging on the opposite wall. "You're done at six?"

"Yes." Offering him a shy smile, her fingers trailing down the length of his arm. "I'd like that."

Draco pressed his lips to hers once more, tugging a wild curl between his fingers when he drew back. "I'll Apparate in at seven."

And he couldn't resist the slow smirk when her chocolate eyes sparkled up at him.

* * *

Digging deep – tremendously so – Draco reached for any shred of courage he could find as he prepared for his _date_ with Granger. His heart had been aflutter in his chest since that afternoon, and he wasn't entirely certain what to expect.

She had kissed him back, which was good. But there was a part of Draco that was sure he was already in way over his head when it came to her, and the thought that she had gone out of her way to secure him a position at the Ministry did something funny to his insides.

Now that he had an alternate option, Draco would see about stepping away from his current position at Malfoy Industries, not that he did much anyways.

Securing his cufflinks, Draco fixed himself with a hard glare in the mirror. His eyes tightened as he murmured, "Don't fuck this up, Malfoy."

Then with a twitch of his lips, he Disapparated.

Granger's living room was as he remembered – an entire wall of bookshelves, stacked beyond their capacity, a cozy looking armchair in one corner, and a potions station visible into the next room. But it was empty.

Leaning against the wall nearest the fireplace, he gazed around, slipping his hands into his pockets. Several minutes later Granger emerged from an adjacent hallway, her eyes wide as she spotted him.

Her hair was tucked into an artfully untidy situation atop her crown, and Draco could tell she was wearing make-up, more so than usual. His eyes tightened as he swallowed, and forced a smile despite the nerves roaring through him. He managed a hitched, "Hello."

Dark eyes sparkled back at him as her lips curved with a smile. "Hi. Are you set to go?"

Clearing his throat, Draco pushed away from the wall. "Absolutely."

Granger wore a casual, summery dress in a shade of dark turquoise that accented the colour of her eyes, with a black button-down cardigan. As he offered a hand, his heart leapt into his throat when her fingers found his and she drew herself into his chest, blinking up at him.

She breathed, "You look nice."

Moistening his lips, Draco smirked. "You look _fantastic_." Her eyes dropped to his mouth, just for a second, but the smirk fell from his lips as hesitation once more churned in his stomach. He added, "You always look fantastic."

A blush coloured Granger's cheeks for the instant before she leaned up, pressing her lips to his in a soft kiss that set Draco's heart into a chase. Her fingers grazed his sides as she drew back, with a gentle, "Flattery _may_ get you somewhere, Draco Malfoy."

With a harsh exhalation, he Apparated them both away.

* * *

Dinner was excellent. The restaurant he'd selected was posh, expensive, and romantic. Granger had been all pretty smiles and witty comments, her chocolate eyes warm as they lingered on his.

The meal – superb. Draco hardly remembered any of it.

Because as soon as he'd paid the tab – despite her logical arguments that they split the meal dutch – Granger had all but invited herself over to his flat.

With a brief look around his sitting room, amusement playing across her lips, she pronounced, "I like your hefty book collection."

Barking an incredulous laugh, Draco shook his head. "There's no way that wasn't premeditated. How long have you been waiting to use that one?"

"I'll never tell." As she dragged her lower lip between her teeth, a smile hovering on her lips, her fingers played against his abdomen.

Desire swept through him at the look in her eye, and before she could say anything else he buried a hand in the base of her hairdo, drawing her closer until he caught her lips with his own. The feel of her soft curves pressed against his body ignited something within Draco's core, and when her tongue grazed his, her hands brushing his chest, something like a growl wrenched from his throat.

Granger kissed him harder, her mouth slanting over his and one hand tugging at his hair as he pulled away to leave a line of kisses along her jaw and neck.

Tugging her jumper down her arm, he helped her free of the garment, and her hands slid to the tie at his throat as she dragged his mouth once more to hers. Making quick work of his tie, she moved to the buttons of his shirt, and Draco tore away to meet her gaze. Her lips were pink, eyes glazed as she stared at him.

Her fingers continued their journey, languid and teasing, as if answering the silent question on his face. She pushed the shirt free of his shoulders to the floor, and one of her hands entwined with his, bringing it to the flesh of her collarbone.

Slowly, her gaze tight to his so that Draco nearly forgot how to breathe, she dragged his hand along her exposed flesh to the line of her dress and the curve of her cleavage.

Feeling a smirk tug at his lips, Draco gave her breast a soft squeeze, thumb sweeping her nipple through the dress as she reached behind her to drag the zip free. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to the column of her throat as his other hand slipped the thin strap of her dress down the curve of her shoulder.

Shifting his attention to the other side, he loosened the other strap, tugging the dress down so it pooled on the floor.

Her strapless bra and matching knickers were of a dark green lace; Draco swallowed as he felt his cock twitch.

Averting her gaze as if self-conscious, Granger slipped her fingers between his. With a soft, breathy tone to her voice, she whispered, "I can only imagine you've got a bedroom here somewhere."

Some of the tension between them fell away, and with a sharp laugh, Draco swept her into his arms and across his shoulder as he hauled her to the bedroom, ignoring her sharp exclamation of indignance.

Granger's creamy skin was a tantalizing contrast to the black of his sheets, and she tugged his trousers from his hips, eyes twinkling with mischief as she pushed a hand into his shorts, taking his erection between her fingers. Draco nearly lost it.

Slipping a hand beneath her bra, he released the clasp and threw the lace to the floor, his hands and mouth finding her breasts as she pumped him steadily, shoving his shorts down with her other hand. Draco chuckled against her chest and toed his pants the rest of the way off.

As his fingers found the enticing wetness of her core, she released a whimper, dragging his mouth to hers. And when he plunged into her, sheathing himself bollocks deep in her welcoming folds, he groaned into her temple.

Shifting beneath him, Granger's eyes fluttered open to find his, her lips parted and a soft furrow on her brow.

Within moments they found a rhythm, her legs curling around his hips as he planted his hands to either side of her, and she kissed him, dragging his lip between her teeth. Her body was an exercise in self-control, and all too soon Draco felt his release chasing closer.

With a cry, Granger tightened around him, and unable to hold off Draco followed with a few final thrusts, before collapsing alongside her. Blinking mindlessly at her, the effects of orgasm coursing through his entire body, he managed a choked, "Spell."

She returned, "Potion." Then her lips curled with a sleepy smile as she tucked into his side, and Draco wrapped an arm around her, planting a kiss to her messy curls, fallen loose. She breathed into his chest, "You don't know how long I've wanted to do that."

With a wry smile, Draco chuckled. "Probably not as long as I've wanted to. But it _does_ explain all those favours."

Her hand swatted his pectoral and he heard a huffed, "Prat."

Snickering, he slid a hand down to the curve of her arse. "And now that we'll both be working at the Ministry you won't be able to get rid of me."

Granger released a soft, breathy sigh that might have been satisfaction. Against his skin, he felt her lips curl into a smile.

His grip tightened, stirring something deep within him. If the anticipatory cadence of his heart in his chest was any indication, this was a _very_ good thing.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


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